DN - Slugfest

With a few heavy stomps I crack Red’s hatch open and rip the pilot out. Tossing him screaming into the upturned half of the boxcar he was dragging—a loose pile of cash is like a pillow, right?—I charge Blue before it can get any ideas.

Blue gets its arms up in time to parry my first blow, and we trade punches for a moment, a real titanic slugfest with echoing bangs like sledgehammers on cast iron. It manages to force me to the ground and I’m stuck dodging blows and punching shins. My boots gouge divots in asphalt as I land punches, and Blue’s fist makes my cheek pop and sing with pain. Finally I catch its fist, a huge clawed finger in each hand, and twist it to the outside. I leave the ground, and rotate in place so I can keep twisting. The arm seizes up, strains, and rips off in a spurting fountain of hydraulics. Blue staggers and its good arm goes to grasp at its stump. While the pilot is distracted by the pain of losing an arm linked to his nerves, I get the hatch off and pull him out. The blue mecha falls over, and I set its pilot down gently in the crook of its arm. His face is pale, and his eyes are distant.

- Dreadnought, Chapter 34